The Legends of Lake on the Mountain (13 page)

Chapter 24

A Matter of Perspective

John couldn't believe it had only been three days since the man known as Darius Marshall was arrested and jailed in Kingston awaiting his trial. Stone Mills had returned to life. For three, straight days, there was a steady trickle of families moving back into the village, below and above the mountain, ready to start again.

He knew Hannah Pringle was devastated about the outcome. His mother had gone to the store more often than she needed to check up on her. While most people were displeased that she had supported the cause of reform, Helen had told her son she ran the only general store in town and would survive the extra scrutiny.

John and George exited the flour mill where they had been working and turned toward the forested mountain. They had helped Hugh Macdonald all morning at the mill and John had successfully negotiated some time off to spend with George. After all, in two days he would be headed back to Kingston with Cornelius for the fall and long winter.

Before they could disappear into the woods, John heard his name being called. He turned to see Anson Rightmyer and Constable Charles Ogden making their way toward them from the centre of the village. It was the first time John had seen them since he was told they had been found safe in the American vigilante's cabin. “John Macdonald, I hope Anson and I aren't keeping you from something important,” said the constable. The top of his bald head was wet with perspiration as he ambled over. Anson Rightmyer looked skinnier than usual, but wore a content smile.

“Not at all, it's really great to see you both,” said John. Everyone shook hands and John felt his eyes drawn to the slim, farmer's hand with the missing finger. John mentally kicked himself for sneaking a look.

“We can't thank you enough for what you did up by the lake. Anson, here, he got the worst of those soldiers,” said Constable Ogden. “Of course, he was there longer, too.”

The lanky farmer looked at the ground and shrugged. “It wasn't something I'd wish on anyone, that's for sure,” said Anson. “But we're both sure grateful for the way you and George – well, the whole Macdonald family, helped us out. Especially your uncle, of course.”

Constable Ogden wiped his head with his palm. “When we saw those British soldiers enter the cabin, after all those days stuck in there…it's hard to describe how good that felt. I'll go back to finding stray horses any day of the week after that much excitement.”

John and George laughed. They said their goodbyes and both men moved on toward the mill and John guessed they were going to see his father. Knowing his father, John figured they might be awhile as every detail was talked about.

They made their way into the forest behind the mill and John pulled out the treasure map. The two discussed possibilities, chatting excitedly. John led the way for twenty minutes as they walked around the forest. But nothing seemed to match the map's lines.

“This way,” said George, pointing to a spot on the map and then at a large oak tree. “Could that tree be this line here?” he asked, pointing to the map.

John sighed and let George lead him to the oak tree. He looked around, looked at the map again, and then finally turned around and slumped against the oak. George joined him, letting his back slide down. The mid-day, August sun perforated the tree's branches, creating laces of light on their arms.

“I don't think this tree is the place, George. But I just can't shake the feeling that the treasure is near here somewhere. The French admiral, who Jeremiah Thacker said he saw as a kid, was just down there along the water's edge,” John said. He imagined the dying admiral on the shoreline and tried to picture Mr. Thacker as a boy not much older than himself.

“Oui, but that does not mean the treasure was near here. Maybe the admiral just got back from somewhere else and that is where he happened to collapse,” said George.

“Maybe. I just have a sense it's nearby, otherwise he would have given him another clue as to where to start looking.

“Unless he could not say it because he was dying.” John sighed again. “It would help if I hadn't soaked this map when I fell into the lake,” said John, disgusted. He tossed the map to the ground a few feet away and rubbed his eyes. When his vision cleared he stared at the upside down map. “No…could it be?” Like a slingshot John left the sturdy oak and picked up the map, holding it upside down as he had just viewed it. “What?” asked George.

“Look at this. We keep thinking these lines coming down right here,” he said, pointing, “was the way he hastily drew trees. What if these aren't trees at all. What if this is a waterfall?”

John felt a surge of excitement. Between the new perspective he was taking as he looked at the map, and the slightly smeared lines, it gave everything a fresh look.

George frowned. “You mean the waterfall behind the flour mill? But that does not look like the waterfall at all. The falls are long and narrow. This is far too wide.”

“Yes, but this was drawn sixty-nine years ago, before the falls were diverted for the mills. Old timers will tell you the falls used to be wider and more powerful!”

George stuck his face closer to the map. “Okay, mon ami, but how do you explain this? If these are not trees, the arrows point into the falls, then. How can that be? There is nothing but rocks behind the waterfall. You can even see them sticking out.”

John nodded. “I know. It's odd.” He chewed his lip. “Come on.”

“And,” continued George chasing after him, “if the falls were wide like that sixty-nine years ago, why did Monsieur Thacker not look there?”

“Maybe he never thought this looked liked a waterfall? I didn't either, until I noticed the map upside down. Then it seemed like those lines might look like moving water.”

As they moved diagonally up the mountain, George reached out for a thick tree root to help anchor himself. Before he could react, a hand grabbed George's wrist.

A heavyset boy emerged from behind a maple tree.

“Gotcha,” said a familiar voice.

“John!” George shouted.

John whirled around and saw Owen holding George in a bear hug.

Chapter 25

Imagine What We Could Become

“Let him go, Owen!” said John.

“Or what?” asked Owen. “You think you're tough now, Johnny, after your time at the lake? Everyone knew that…thing wasn't real.”

“Is that why you ran from the old tree the other night when you saw it – after knocking us in the water?”

“George and I have unfinished things to deal with, right George?” he said, ignoring John.

“If you leave him alone you can come with us,” John blurted.

“No way, John!” said George. “Do not say it – I am not afraid of him.” Owen squeezed harder. “Well, maybe a little,” he gasped.

“Why would I want to come with you two anywhere?” Owen sneered.

“Because old Mr. Thacker gave us a treasure map. And George and I think we've figured out where it is,” said John. He waved it from where he was standing.

Owen lessened his hold and stared at the map.

“You can have ten percent of whatever we find,” added John. “But only if you let George go and then don't bother us again.”

“Uh, make it fifty,” said Owen.

“Okay, you can have fifty percent of the first ten percent that we find,” said John. “And that will be one hundred percent of all that you're going to get, okay?” John could see Owen's brain was starting to hurt from thinking. But he was already releasing his hold on George. “Fine – that's more like it,” he said.

John bit his tongue so he wouldn't laugh and mustered a serious expression. “Owen, you are far cleverer than you look.” Owen nodded solemnly.

“Now,” said John, “let's get going.” John, George and Owen moved along the steep hill. The sound of the thick thread of water was a constant as they moved toward the waterfall. The great hill was especially steep here. The falls themselves could be reached by a narrow path along the face of the cliff. The three moved carefully, using coarse roots and embedded rocks to grip along the way.

“John,” said George whispering, “I cannot believe we are bringing Owen on what is supposed to be our treasure search.”

“It was either that or let Owen take you apart,” said John. He glanced back and saw Owen's complexion was green. “Maybe he won't make it anyway,” said John. He cupped his hand so Owen could hear. “Something wrong, Owen?”

“Of course not,” he said. His voice sounded higher than usual. “Where are you two going, anyway?”

“To the falls,” said John.

The waterfall was one hundred-and-fifty-feet above the village. John glanced down a few times and could see a few people moving about the village, but only through the filter of tree branches. No one was looking up that high and John was thankful since adults usually took a dim view of kids near the falls. The end of the narrow path led to an expanded, level area where they had a sparse amount of room to stand near the falls. The spray from the thread of water misted John's face as he found his footing on the ledge. George and Owen joined him.

“It's really slippery up here from the water,” warned John. “We better be – whoa!”

George reached out and steadied John who crouched lower until his heart slowed some. “Are you alright, mon ami?”

John nodded. “See?” said George, pointing to the rocks that jutted out from both sides of the falls. “It does not make any sense. Nothing is here.”

John crept closer and pulled at some of the smaller rocks that were sticking out of the back of the falls. “George – these are loose!” He pulled it out and was careful to set it on the expanse of ledge, rather than have it tumble down the great hill and hit the mill or another building.

“Give me a hand – but make sure we pile all the rocks here. We don't want them to fall down the mountain.” Owen and George joined John, carefully piling all of the rocks they were removing. Owen was able to carry twice as much as John and George. As they removed the rocks from behind the falls, it was obvious that the space behind the waterfall was opening up into something larger.

“This is turning into some sort of cave,” said John. He was breathing more heavily now from the work and he couldn't have been more elated. George hadn't even checked his hair in twenty minutes, John realized, since he was so excited. Of course, it looked the same as always.

“John, you must have been right. There is going to be room here to have hidden something!”

Owen scrunched his forehead as he moved his muscled arms with greater speed. “I hope it's gold. Remember how much I get, you two.”

“Oh, we won't forget,” said John. He rolled his eyes at George when Owen wasn't looking. After Owen moved a particularly large rock they could see open space.

“It is a cave!” said John. They worked quickly until there was a crawl space big enough to peer into. “George, can you fit in there?” asked John. “You're the smallest.”

His friend looked at the dark hole and swallowed. John knew he was weighing the discovery of treasure with the unknown. He didn't blame him.

“I'll try.” George pointed both of his arms as if he were diving and started to push himself through the opening. John steadied George's legs as he bellycrawled over the rocks. “Hey, I think I'm stuck,” he said wriggling his torso to try and fit through.

“No problem,” said Owen. He grabbed both of George's ankles and shoved hard. The boy disappeared through the hole. “Oww!”

John heard him say something additional in French that he didn't quite understand. “George, we can't quite hear you.”

“I was just talking to Owen.” Owen scowled. “I don't speak French.”

“I know,” said George. “Hey, John!” he added, his voice muffled by the cave. “I cannot see anything in here. It is damp…really dark. Keep moving stones. I will do the same thing from this side.”

Owen and John moved quickly from the outside while George removed rocks toward himself on the inside of the cave. Soon they were able to open up an increasingly larger space. John was able to squeeze his lanky frame through easily now while Owen forced his oversized body to comply, crashing through the other side. A few small stones went over the side and John prayed that no one noticed.

Once inside, John realized the cave itself was about the size of a small room. The waterfall continued to cascade toward the mill below, overshooting the mouth of the cave.

“This is fantastic,” said John. “There must have been a small avalanche of some kind which sealed it.” He looked around in the dim light.

“There's nothing here,” said Owen. He was now at the far end of the cave and wore a look of disgust. John and George looked around, touching the walls and feeling the ground with their hands as if another room would appear somehow.

“I don't understand,” said John. He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm because his hands were blackened from the dirt. “I just know this is the place. I can feel it.”

Owen shifted his weight quickly toward John and George, who backed up against the wall. “You know what I feel? That you two are a waste of my time.”

John stopped breathing for a moment to guard against Owen's breath. “We're going to keep looking,” said John.

“And once we find it, you'll still get your share,” said George.

Owen snorted then appeared to consider things. “That's right. Anything you two find is fifty percent mine.”

“You mean fifty percent of the first ten percent that we find,” said John. “Remember, that represents one hundred percent of all that you're going to get. Yes – you have our word on it.”

“Whatever,” said Owen, already turning. “I'm going home.”

John and George looked at one another with a sigh of relief. They peered outside after a couple of minutes and saw Owen lumbering down the side of the mountain. George leaned back, dejected. “It was a great idea, John. Too bad there is nothing here.”

John leaned back and felt the soft earth of the floor of the cave. He used his heel to rub the dirt where he saw some discolouration. The small brown patch grew larger as he rubbed and he soon realized it was something buried just beneath the surface.

“What's this?” He reached out and gently pulled on the brown material. It was soft and supple. A rectangular shaped leather pouch was in his hand. John brushed most of the dirt from it and scuttled to the mouth of the cave where there was more light. George joined him. “What's inside? Gem stones?”

“Too light for that,” said John. He reached in and gently pulled out a single letter. The surface of the paper was similar to the treasure map. Carefully, he unfolded it and stared. “George, it's in French!” said John. “And look, there's a year at the top – 1759!”

“That's the year Monsieur Thacker said it was – and that it was a French admiral who gave him the map!” added George.

John handed it over. “Come on, read it. I can only pick out certain words – and don't leave anything out.” George took the letter and skimmed over the contents so he could understand what he was reading and to familiarize himself with the man's handwriting. He swallowed. Even in the dim light of the cave John read the unease in his friend's eyes. George read.

September 30, 1759

Dear Annette,

Let this not be my last letter to you, I pray. Earlier today, I received word that General Wolfe has defeated General Montcalm in Quebec. Both are dead. Quebec has fallen, although I am certain other battles will go on.

I have found an incredible, room-sized cave behind the waterfall on the mountain I earlier described. From my vantage point here, one hundred and fifty feet above, I can see British ships in the distance. With a heavy heart I realize a pitched sea battle is about to begin. Some other British ships, I fear, have already landed quietly, bringing soldiers to this strategic area.

And yet I must return to my ship, Annette, to rejoin my men. It will not be easy for it is a long and treacherous open shoreline. Pray for me that I make it. I have already sketched a rough map to this cave which I will bring with me, since I am unsure of when I might be able to return.

I have a small bounty on board my ship that I have been saving, which I will also hide in this cave when I return. If I am not successful in my return, then only this final letter shall remain here. All that I have saved on board may then be lost to the ages.

A sailor's salary is no great fortune, even for one recently named ‘admiral.' But it would be a start for us.

Truly, the treasure I have always sought is here, Annette, but only with you beside me. It seems a shame to continue to fight over this land, my love, for the more I see of the size and scope of it there is room enough for all. Perhaps I am too old for hatred now, but I grow weary of this war and wish others were also this tired. If each side were to turn their cannons down, imagine what we could build, here in this untamed land!

Imagine what a nation we could become.

But that is not for one admiral to decide, is it? Perhaps one day someone will stumble upon these words, or words like them, and find such a path to take. I leave these thoughts here in the hope that I may one day read them to you aloud in what would become our new country...our new home. Yet one way or another, I shall see you again.

Yours Now and Forevermore,

Joseph